


Honey You're Familiar Like My Mirror Years Ago

by JackEPeace



Category: Barely Lethal (2015)
Genre: F/F, Liz Larson Character Study, Liz is a baby gay, everything is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: Liz frowns slightly. “Not everything has to be like it is in those stupid movies,” she says, her voice stonier than she’d intended.Megan nods. “Yeah, I know that,” she says. “But still…I think the feelings should be the same, right? That magical, like happy feeling like you’ve just cut the right wire on the explosive when you had only three seconds left? Like you could just blow up but you didn’t so everything seems so much clearer and more exciting?”Liz’s mother pats Megan’s hand once more. “Those experiences are not universal,” she says gently. “But I think you have the right idea.”Liz, for one, feels like she knows exactly what Megan is talking about. Though she doesn’t know if Megan is the bomb or the successfully cut wire in her particular situation.-or- A Liz Larson Character Study (because it's what she deserves)





	Honey You're Familiar Like My Mirror Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Liz Larson is gay. 
> 
> Also I have a lot of feelings about Liz and she's my girl and I love her. 
> 
> This fic is based off of so many head canons that Mika and I have come up with that are practically canon in my mind and you can't convince me otherwise! 
> 
> Title from "From Eden" by Hozier

The smell of chlorine stings her nose and the concrete under her wrinkling feet is rough and hot from the sun but still Liz doesn’t stop, hurrying toward the edge of the pool and launching herself into the water once more. Some of the stinging pool water gets into her mouth because she’s laughing even as she goes under and despite her parents’ admonitions, she opens her eyes, just for the briefest of moments, as she lets herself hang weightless. Her blonde hair swirls around her face and she can see the legs of the other kids at the party, kicking and churning water all around her.

When Liz pops back up above the water, she’s laughing, spitting out water, pushing her sticky hair away from her forehead and eyes. She’s eleven-years-old and can’t think of anything better than a day spent exactly like this, at a pool party for one of the girls in her class, at the beginning of summer.

School hasn’t even been out, not officially, not yet. It’s the first weekend of vacation, when it still feels like she might have to wake up the next day and go to school just like she always does. Even still, Liz feels freer with the promise of the days to come and the heat of the day and the smell of her friend’s dad grilling lunch for them. There will be cake soon and presents and Liz can imagine it, all the kids in the class gathered around in their wet bathing suits, goosebumps on their drying skin, pretending to care about the presents being unwrapped when really they want to get back into the pool.

Liz swims over to the side of the pool, pulling herself out, heedless of the concrete scratching her skin. Some of the girls are standing by the table shaded by a giant umbrella and they call her over, waving when Liz looks in their direction. She hesitates for the briefest of moments, debating throwing herself back into the water. Some of the other kids are playing Sharks and Minnows and she wants to join in with the laughing and splashing.

But her friends are calling her over, so Liz turns away from the game and hurries in their direction.

And she slips, the patio slick beneath her feet, and she can’t catch herself before her leg bangs against the concrete. Liz feels like an idiot when her eyes immediately fill with tears and she has the worst impulse to start crying.

Liz is only vaguely aware of her friends commenting on her fall, making sympathetic sounds from their spot by the table, still under the shade of the umbrella. She shifts back, sitting and pulling her knee up so that she can study the bloody gash, which doesn’t do much to help with the impulse to cry.

Someone sets a hand on her shoulder and Liz looks up to see her friend’s older sister standing there, looking at her with concern. “You okay?”

Liz has been over before, has gone to sleepovers and has spent countless hours splashing around in the pool. But she’s never really thought about her friend’s sister before, because her older sister is sixteen and therefore equal parts untouchably cool and unbearably obnoxious. She thinks her name is Olivia -knows it is, somewhere in the back of her mind.

Liz nods, trying to blink away the tears, embarrassed by them. Yesterday, her brother, Parker, had cut himself pretending to be a pirate and had cried about it until Liz had called him a baby and then he had cried about that instead. And here she is now, doing the same thing. “Yeah,” she tells Olivia. “I’m okay.”

“Come on,” Olivia says, stepping back to give Liz room to get to her feet. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.”

It’s the type of thing a parent would do, and Liz can’t remember Olivia ever paying them any attention before. But she follows Olivia into the house anyway because her knee is throbbing and she knows she can’t swim anyway with it all cut up and bloody and really she just wants someone to pay attention to her, just for a minute.

Inside, the air is running full blast and Liz shivers, quickening her pace, suddenly desperate to get back outside. The carpet is scratchy against her feet, so different from the plush carpet of her own home. Her father never lets her and Parker eat anywhere other than the kitchen, annoyed at the prospect of the carpet looking anything but perfect.

In the bathroom, Olivia instructs Liz to sit on the edge of the bathtub while she digs through the medicine cabinet to find the Band-Aids and Neosporin. Liz watches her, noting how Olivia is wearing shorts over her bikini bottoms, her hair dry, like she’s too cool to play around in the pool with a bunch of kids. She swallows, looking at her feet on the powder blue bathmat. “I think it’s cool you have a pool in your backyard,” she says.

“Oh, yeah?” Olivia says absently, taking a plastic box out of the cabinet and turning back to face her. “It’s nice for tanning.”

“And swimming,” Liz points out, suddenly all too aware of how she probably looks right now. Her hair is wet and stuck to her head, her one-piece bathing suit sticking to her skin and bedazzled because it was super cool last summer when she bought it.

Olivia shrugs, cleaning off the gash on Liz’s knee. She tries to ignore the sting of tears once more. “Chlorine isn’t good for your hair,” Olivia remarks.

Liz nods, even though such a thing has never occurred to her. She looks at Olivia and figures that she must know what she’s talking about because her hair is perfect, falling in dark, shimmering waves down her back. She smells like sunscreen and something coconutty and it makes Liz’s head tingle.

Olivia puts on the Band-Aid, patting her knee. “There you go, kid,” she says with a smile.

The smile makes Liz’s chest feel full and bubbly and she grins back, the cut on her knee completely forgotten. “Thanks.” 

Olivia gives her another smile before standing up and putting everything back. Liz stays there on the edge of the bathtub, wanting Olivia to look at her again, to pay her some more attention, to smile at her again. It makes her feel nice, special.

But Olivia just heads toward the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Coming?”

Quickly, Liz hops off the edge of the bathtub, hurrying after her. She trails Olivia for the rest of the party, hanging around the lounge chairs or the table set up with snacks and drinks, trying to look cool and nonchalant and not eager and annoying, like Parker does whenever he follows her around the house.

Eventually, they eat and Liz tries to sit as close to Olivia as she can, but Olivia disappears up to her room after they sing happy birthday and Liz tries not to be disappointed. There’s cake with thick, sugary frosting, and presents that she has to get excited over even though none of them are for her. And not long after that, parents start showing up and Liz has to gather her bag and shoes and hurry to her mom’s car before her mom and Parker have time to get out and do something to embarrass her.

After that, Liz starts asking her parents to take her over to her friend’s house, waiting breathlessly for them to say yes. Sometimes her friend is too busy, sometimes her own family is too busy with work or things related to Parker, but sometimes she gets to go, wearing her bathing suit under her clothes, hoping to see Olivia hanging around.

Sometimes she does and sometimes Olivia isn’t there at all.

“You’re spending a lot of time over there lately,” her mother remarks one day, while making dinner, and Liz is sitting at the kitchen table with her head pillowed on her arms and her body loose and tired from swimming all day.

Liz shrugs and doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

 

* * *

 

There’s an old train track that runs behind her subdivision, old and overgrown and half-rotted but still somehow a source of interest and entertainment for the neighborhood kids. Liz’s favorite thing about it is that, sometimes after dinner, her dad will suggest they go take a walk together and they always walk alongside the track for a little while, talking and laughing, until he decides they’ve gone far enough and turns them back.

Liz balances on the tarnished steel beams, keeping her eyes focused on her sneakers to avoid falling off. She loses her balance from time to time and her shoes crunch against the rocks in between each wooden track. Sometimes she and Parker come out here, sweating from the heat and the scratchy dry grass, looking for old pennies or pieces of discarded treasure that he deems important.

But she likes it best of all when she comes out here with her dad.

The sky is dusky, still bright but with the promise that sunset is not far off. It always comes suddenly in the summer and everything is still hot but not humid and the air glows with fireflies and the air shimmers with the sound of the crickets and the cicadas.

Liz loses her footing again, slipping off the beam and her dad smiles at her. “Careful, Lizzy.”

She looks up at him, deciding to settle for walking on the ground. “Can I go to Jessa’s house again tomorrow?”

Her dad smiles at her. “You spend a lot of time over there,” he says and it makes Liz feel like her mom and dad have been talking about her behind her back.

Liz shrugs, stretching out her leg to touch the next wooden part of the track, avoiding the rocks and overgrown weeds in between. “They have a pool.”

“Doesn’t Jessa have a brother?” Her dad asks and Liz doesn’t know why he’s smiling at her, like he knows some sort of secret.

Liz hops to the next board. “Yeah. And a sister.”

“Do you have a crush, Lizzy?” Her dad says with a grin, teasing her, making her feet somehow older and like a little kid at the same time.

Liz rolls her eyes, her cheeks growing hot. “What? No.”

But her dad only laughs. “You know, I think I probably had my first crush around your age,” he says. “A neighborhood girl.”

Liz looks at him, suddenly intrigued. “You did?” She asks, walking beside him without trying to stay only on the boards.

“Oh yeah,” her dad says. “I just to find all kinds of excuses to hang out with her. I’m sure some of my excuses weren’t very good but, hey, they worked.” He laughs at himself, shaking his head. “It’s cute, is what I’m trying to say. But, you know, you don’t have to rush or anything.”

Liz glares at him, rolling her eyes once more, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I know that,” she grumbles. “Geez. I’m not a little kid.”

“I know,” her dad says and she can tell he’s trying not to smile at her, which is annoying. “Just, you know, you don’t have to be in a hurry to kiss him or anything like that.”

She looks at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Him?”

“Well,” her dad laughs, “girls don’t kiss other girls, do they?” He laughs, as though he can’t imagine anything more ridiculous.

Liz doesn’t say anything, looking down at her sneakers. She knows her dad is right, of course. Girls _don’t_ kiss other girls. _That’s_ not what she wants to do…it’s not. She knows this. Still, her chest suddenly feels tight, her stomach twisted up and nervous and her skin feels prickly hot.

“Can we go back home now?” Liz asks, looking up at her dad. “Don’t you think we’ve come pretty far today?”

“Sure,” her dad agrees without even bothering to point out that they usually go farther than this. “Come on.”

He puts his arm around her shoulder as they walk and it makes Liz feel a little bit better, a little less sick to her stomach. He doesn’t know that she’s been wanting to go to Jessa’s house to hang out with Olivia, otherwise he wouldn’t be acting like everything was normal.

Everything _is_ normal, Liz reminds herself, because she’s just been going to Jessa’s house to use the pool and be around her older brother.

But still, the next morning, she tells her mom she doesn’t really feel like swimming and just stays in her room, reading _Shiver_ until she gets to the very last page, thinking it might have all been more interesting in if it was just about the werewolves and not Sam and Grace wanting to kiss each other.

 

* * *

 

When Liz starts high school, she immediately hates it.

It’s definitely not the paradise that her mother and all those stupid teen shows had promised that it would be. It’s just…it’s just like middle school only everything is bigger: the building, the lockers, the kids. Everyone is the same, everyone still knows her, only somehow over the summer all the other girls got pretty and Liz just got to stay the same. The same blonde hair, the same knobby elbows, the same skinny legs and short torso.

Liz starts a countdown in the corner of her notebook, a desperate scribbling of numbers until the end of the first semester and to the two blissful weeks of spring break. Until the end of her first year. Until the end of her second. Until the moment she gets to graduate and go somewhere that doesn’t have a Gooch or a Cash or a bevy of kids who don’t even laugh at her or make fun of her because they don’t really notice her at all.

“Why so glum chum?” Her dad asks her one day after she’s been a freshman for officially two months and it seems to have occurred to him for the first time that she’s having the worst two months of her life.

Her dad hasn’t been around so much anymore, working later hours, sometime having to go into the office on Saturday too. Liz is torn between admitting everything, grateful for his sudden interest, and telling him to leave her alone, the way she does whenever Parker or her mother try to come into her room.

Liz just groans, leaning back against the couch. “I hate high school,” she grumbles, testing the waters a bit. Maybe her dad will ask her why, maybe he’ll just say everyone hates high school and go off to finish sending some work emails or whatever always has him on his phone.

Her dad gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “You just need to make some friends, kiddo,” he says. “It’ll get better.”

Liz looks away, stung. Even her dad knows she doesn’t have any friends. How embarrassing.

The next week, she sees a flyer stuck to the Viking’s Community Board that has to do with being a foreign exchange student -which seems a little too far outside her comfort zone- or being a host family _for_ a foreign exchange student -which seems a little bit more doable.

She takes the flyer, folding it up and slipping it into her pocket, thinking the idea over while she sits in geometry and history and English and Spanish. If they hosted a foreign exchange student, the poor girl would be a fish out of water, so out of her element, desperate for friends and to fit in. She would need someone to show her the ropes, to help her navigate a new home and a new country. Liz could be like her built in best friend.

It would be perfect.

Liz brings the idea up at dinner that night, trying to make it seem less like she wants someone who _has_ to be her friend and more like she just wants the cultural experience of being able to spend six months with someone from a different country.

“Oh, I don’t know, honey,” her mother says, almost before she gets the words out. “That’s a big commitment.”

Liz glares at her. “We have the extra bedroom,” she says. “It wouldn’t be that hard.”

But still, her mother doesn’t budge. “We’d really have to talk it over. Letting a stranger into the house and-”

“You just hate every idea I come up with,” Liz snaps, pushing her chair away from the dinner table and getting to her feet.

She doesn’t know why the words were so easy to say or why she even said them at all, but it makes her feel better for about five seconds. Just like slamming the front door.

Liz sits down on the front step, holding onto the edge of the concrete step until the rough bits press into her skin and stop hurting as long as she stays perfectly still.

The door opens and she’s relieved to see her dad there and not her mom. “You okay, Lizzy?”

Instead of answering, Liz just chews onto her bottom lip and stares at the cars parked in the driveway. After a beat, her dad says, “Let’s take a walk.”

They go in the direction of the train tracks, something they haven’t done as much since that summer before seventh grade when she was spending so much time at Jessa’s pool. For a while, anyway.

“So what’s the matter?” Her dad asks finally, as Liz walks beside him on the wood of the tracks, like she used to. “You kinda hurt your mom’s feelings.”

Liz feels annoyance bristle in her chest. “I don’t care.”

“You really want to do this foreign exchange student thing?” Her dad asks her sympathetically.

Rather than answer, Liz just says, “I hate high school” like that will somehow answer everything.

Her dad laughs, which was not the reaction she had been hoping for. “Maybe _you_ should be the foreign exchange student,” he teases. “Go try another life for a while.”

Liz cuts her eyes at him. “Mom would probably like that.”

“Lizzy, don’t be that way,” her dad admonishes without any sort of real strictness in his voice. “Your mom is just doing her best. She loves you. We both do.”

With a sigh, Liz glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Even though I’m acting like a brat?” It’s something she’s overheard her mother saying to her father when she’d thought Liz was asleep and the bedroom door was completely closed.

But her father doesn’t seem to notice the familiar phrase. “No matter what,” he tells her.

 

* * *

 

In geometry they have to partner up with another student in class and create a tessellation and the equation to go with it. Their teacher pairs them up, which Liz is stupidly grateful for because she can’t think of anything worse than being that person looking around after everyone else has already grabbed on their friend and partnered themselves up.

The girl Mrs. Montgomery has her working with is named Cameron and she’s been sitting across the classroom from Liz since the first day of school. She has round cheeks and freckles and is on the soccer team and doesn’t look at all annoyed to find herself partnered up with Liz.

In fact, it seems to be a match made in heaven, as far as Liz is concerned. Cameron does her fair share of the work, laughs at Liz’s stupid and corny jokes, and even starts waving Liz over in the cafeteria to sit with her and some of the other soccer players.

For the first time, Liz doesn’t hate getting up in the morning and getting ready for school. She starts putting on some of the makeup her mother has been buying for her, starts trying to do a little more with her hair than just wearing it in a ponytail. Cameron seems to notice, complimenting her about her eyeliner, her lip gloss, the curls she painstakingly spent an hour putting into her hair. Cameron sighs, wrapping one of the curls around her finger at the lunch table. “Ugh, your hair is so pretty. I wish I could get mine to do that.”

Liz hears the word _pretty_ and forgets that Cameron is just talking about her hair.

Even after the project is finished, Cameron keeps inviting her to sit at the lunch table and they hang out together during study hall, working on geometry and other assignments. And Cameron invites her to go out Friday night to the movies with some of the other girls from the soccer team and a few other guys they know and it takes Liz half a second to assure Cameron that she’ll be there.

It feels good to be able to say that morning at breakfast, “I’m going out tonight.”

Both her parents look at her. “Oh? Um, okay,” her mother says, nodding, turning back to flip a pancake for Parker. “Who with?”

Liz shrugs, dragging a piece of her pancake through the syrup on her plate. “Cameron and some other people.”

She’s never mentioned Cameron before, never talked about their project, never bothered to mention how awesome it feels to spend time with Cameron, to make her laugh, to have her play with her hair. But that doesn’t stop her from throwing the name out there, trying to lend further credence to her story. _See! I have friends!_ She wants to say. _More than one!_

Her dad smirks, exchanging a look with her mom, before nodding. “Good for you, Lizzy.”

And so she goes out to the movies and sits beside Cameron and they share a popcorn -which was Cameron’s idea because everything at the movies is so damn expensive- and Liz really doesn’t care so much about the movie because she likes reaching into the popcorn bag at the same time Cameron does and letting their fingers brush together. Cameron doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t seem to mind and Liz eats so much popcorn it gives her a headache but it’s totally worth it.

The next weekend, Cameron invites her over on Saturday to do homework and listen to music and just “I dunno, hang out” which sounds pretty awesome to Liz. Her mom is a little hesitant on the whole thing but before Liz can wind herself up for another declaration about how her mother hates her and never lets her do anything -something she’s certain her mom can see building in her eyes- she gets the okay to go after all.

Liz barely pauses to say goodbye before she’s skipping out of the car, hurrying up to ring the doorbell.

Cameron’s dad answers and directs Liz upstairs to the bedroom and Liz has to resist the urge to take the steps two at a time, her bag thumping against her side with every exuberant step.

When Liz knocks on the bedroom door, Cameron answers it with a smile and pulls Liz into a hug, even though they just saw each other yesterday at school. Liz holds onto her tightly for maybe a beat too long, letting herself take in the smell of Cameron’s floral shampoo and honeysuckle lotion and it makes her chest feel all hot and prickly like she hasn’t felt in years.

They sit together on the floor, their books and papers spread out between them, though they mostly just talk and laugh and look at things on their phones and talk shit about the other kids they go to school with.

“Let me paint your nails,” Cameron says, already getting up to grab a small plastic box off her dresser and carrying it over. She sits down in front of her, giving her a look before sighing and saying, “You’re so pretty, Liz.”

Once again, Liz just hears the word _pretty_ and it makes her chest buzz with excitement, her cheeks hot, her body feel like it wants to jump around, too excited to stay in one place.

Cameron looks at her and smiles and suddenly she’s leaning forward and just like that, her lips touch Cameron’s. Later, when she’s trying to forget the whole thing, Liz will tell herself that they barely touched, that it didn’t last long enough to be a real kiss, that it didn’t really matter or count.

But in that moment, Liz thinks it’s pretty great. Exciting and soft.

And then Cameron pulls away and she’s looking at Liz with a slightly horrified, slightly embarrassed look on her face.

“I…um…” Cameron quickly shakes her head, scooting back just an inch. Barely imperceptible, but still, Liz notices. “I’m not…you know…I don’t…like girls or whatever.”

Liz feels her face go red hot and she thinks that she might cry or scream or just move all around again, too tight in her own body to sit still.

She wants to sink through the floor and never show her face again.

“Oh…yeah…me neither,” Liz says quickly, turning away from Cameron and grabbing her math book because it’s the closest thing to her. “Whatever.”

Even as she says the words, she feels a nagging sensation in her chest, a ripping that makes her certain that what she’s said was a lie.

She ignores the thought, pushing it aside. It wasn’t a lie, she won’t let it be.

“I should go,” Liz says quickly, shoving everything into her bag. “My brother’s got a…”

Not that matters what excuse she comes up with because Cameron just nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Liz leaves without bothering to say anything else because it doesn’t matter what she would say anyway. Cameron is totally fine with her leaving.

She calls her mom from outside, asking her to come pick her up, ignoring her mom’s questions about why the plans have changed. “Can you just come?” Liz snaps. “Please?”

Of course she does, and Liz appreciates the way her mother doesn’t ask her any questions when she finally pulls in the driveway.

At home, Liz locks herself in her bedroom and hides her face in her pillow and can’t stop her stupid, traitorous brain from replaying the scene over and over again. She’s an idiot. No wonder no one wants to be around her.

And she can’t quite forget the way that Cameron looked at her, like she was some type of freak. It feels the same way it did to hear her dad laugh at the idea of a girl wanting to kiss another girl.

Liz’s tears are hot on her cheeks, but she tries to ignore them as she hides her face in her pillow and ignores her mother when she knocks on the door and Parker when he comes up to tell her it’s time for dinner.

Later, her father walks into the room, carrying a plate that makes Liz’s stomach rumble and she grudgingly sits up, taking the plate when he offers it to her. “High school?” He asks her.

Liz stabs at the meatloaf with her fork. “High school.” She can only imagine what it’s going to be like Monday. The thought makes tears spring to her eyes all over again. What if Cameron tells someone? What if she lets everyone know what a freak and an idiot and a weirdo she is?

Her stomach turns and her throat closes and Liz sets the plate beside her bed.

Her dad puts his hand on her knee, squeezing. “Your mom and I talked about the foreign exchange thing,” he tells her. “We decided it would be okay to be a host family.”

Liz smiles tentatively because she knows that’s what her dad wants and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she doesn’t care about that anymore. “Really?”

He nods, smiling, clearly pleased with him. Like he’s somehow fixed everything.

He hasn’t, not be a long shot. But Liz figures it can’t hurt to let him think that.

 

* * *

 

No one sends them any inquires about staying in the lovely town of Newton, with the lovely Larson family. No one expresses even the vaguest of interest in their offer.

And, as she grows older, Liz stops checking the page, stops caring about the lack of interest, stops allowing herself to think of this as just another sign that she, Liz Larson, shall remain friendless for the remainder of her high school years.

She stops caring about Cameron.

Stops caring about how it had felt to kiss her and how the elation and certainty that that was exactly what she was supposed to be doing had quickly been erased by the stinging feeling of panic and rejection.

Liz just keeps up with the running countdown, the declining numbers that promise that she’ll be out of this place soon enough.

She lets herself care about that and nothing more.

Her Friday nights are spent just like every night -at home, at the kitchen table, working on something related to school or sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone, pretending to be engaged in family togetherness.

Not that it matters, seeing as her father is rarely a part of the Family Togetherness and her mother’s schedule is growing sporadic, meaning that sometimes it’s just her and Parker, a family of two.

Liz has her feet propped up on the coffee table as Parker sits on the floor, plotting out an elaborate game with his Lego city while some Disney movie plays on the TV, ignored by the both of them.

“Lizzy,” Parker says absently as she watches a video of a cat on water skis, “why isn’t Dad around anymore?”

Liz freezes, lowering her phone. “What are you talking about?”

The words come out sharper than she intends because she doesn’t like the sound of Parker’s question or the way it makes her feel icy cold.

Parker knocks down one of his towers, staring at the scattering of blocks on the carpet. “He’s working all the time. He never comes home anymore.”

Liz sits up straighter on the couch, feeling a sudden surge of anger at her brother. “Yes, he does,” she says sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Liz knows exactly what he’s talking about. It’s been nearly two weeks since they’ve had dinner all together as a family. Liz remembers because she’s been keeping a mental note, another tally in the corner of her notebook.

Her father had taken them all out to dinner, insisting even though her mother had already started cooking. He’d been in good spirits, letting Parker get a giant piece of cake for dessert, filling most of the dinner time conversation. Liz had felt oddly unbalanced, weirdly out of place as she watched her father, trying to remember when they had stopped taking walks every night, trying to figure out why he seemed so strange to her. Something about him had felt out of place and unbalanced too, but she hadn’t been able to figure it out. Hadn’t wanted to keep thinking about it.

Parker looks over his shoulder at her. “Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” Liz says quickly, getting to her feet. She reaches for the remote, clicking off the TV. “Clean this up and go to bed.”

Parker sticks his tongue out at her and knocks another tower over. She ignores him, stomping up the steps, slamming the door even though Parker is the only one to hear it and he certainly doesn’t care.

But it makes her feel better.

Or so she tells herself.

 

* * *

 

Her mother has a work trip that takes her to North Carolina and Liz pretends not to hear her parents bickering the kitchen about it, the sharpness of her mother’s voice as she reminds her husband that he has children to take care of and he can’t just stay at work and expect Liz and Parker to just manage on their own.

And so, her mother catches her flight and it feels oddly unfamiliar without her in the house. Her father is there in the kitchen in the morning, putting waffles into the toaster, a cup of coffee in his hands. “Where’s Parker?” Liz asks, looking at the clock above the oven.

Her father smiles at her, as though it doesn’t matter. “Oh, I think he’s getting himself dressed.”

“We’ll be late,” Liz grumbles, sitting down at the table and crossing her arms over her chest.

“You know, when I was your age, I would have loved being late to school,” her dad says, putting a hand on her head and ruffling her hair. Liz glares at him but doesn’t shift away from his touch.

Liz shrugs. “Well I just want to be done with it,” she tells him. “As quickly as possible.”

“High school is about having fun,” he tells her. “You’re too serious all the time, Lizzy. You should go out, go to a party. A high school party!”

Liz only looks at him, as though perplexed by the idea of it. “Um, no,” she says flatly, thinking about Cameron and how it had felt two years ago to have everyone looking at her, trying to figure out why she wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. “I’m good.”

Her dad shakes his head, still smiling, but Liz can see the hint of disappointment on his features. “You’re missing out,” he assures her as the waffles pop up in the toaster, only slightly burnt. “That’s what high school is all about.”

She remembers how it had felt to have her dad tell her that she needed to make friends. He probably still thinks of her as that girl, that friendless freshman.

At school, she hears about a party that weekend from Cash and Gooch and some of the other guys from Cash’s stupid band and thinks, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to go after all.

It seems worth it when she tells her dad she can’t stay home and watch Parker Friday night because she’s going out after all. “Just to a party,” Liz says with a shrug when he askes her about it, smiling, “it’s some guys from school. It’s whatever.”

Even still, Liz dresses up, something shiny that her mother helped her pick out over the summer when Liz thought she might want to wear something so noticeable to school for the start of her junior year. It’s been in her closet for two months now, waiting for her to slip it on. Liz looks at herself in the mirror and smiles, feeling buoyant and optimistic. A party, just like those dumb teen movies she hates so much.

The thing about parties is that the amount of alcohol served at them makes everyone think they’re friends with everyone else. Including Liz Larson, who has never had a sip of alcohol in her life, yet drinks the entirety of the plastic Solo cup that is handed to her by a pretty girl from her English class.

The girl’s name is Hayley and she sits in the same row as Liz, though three people in front of her, which makes her someone that Liz knows only in the vaguest of terms. Not that that stops Hayley from handing her the cup and swooping Liz into the throng of the party like they’re old friends.

Honestly, Liz appreciates Hayley’s excitement and her arm around her shoulders. It saves her from feeling like that awkward wallflower, like the kid picked last for the team in gym class.

It makes her think that, maybe, this party isn’t going to be so terrible after all.

“Liz Larson,” Hayley says around the time Liz is finishing her first beer and her mind is buzzing, making her smile at the sound of Hayley saying her name. “Why haven’t you ever come to any parties before?”

Hayley asks her this while petting Liz’s hair, watching a beer pong game in action. Cash throws his ping pong ball into the opposing team’s last cup and amidst the cheering and celebrating, he decides to pull his shirt off and throw it into the cluster of girls watching him. Hayley rolls her eyes, looking at Liz like they’re in on some big secret.

“Um,” Liz says, her tongue thick with the taste of the awful beer, her mind buzzing from Hayley’s touch. “I don’t…really know?”

Hayley nods like she’s just sad something profound. “Do you want another drink?”

And Liz nods too because Hayley is smiling at her and, hey, after the first half, the beer really wasn’t that bad.

Hayley ends up dragging her over to the beer pong table to play against Cash and Gooch despite Liz’s assurances that she’s not that great and even though they lose it doesn’t seem to matter because Hayley is still laughing, leaning her head on Liz’s shoulder.

It gets harder to understand the passage of time after that, harder to remember why she’s never come to parties before, harder to remember that beer is actually disgusting, harder to remember that Gooch and Cash and their idiot friends are actually idiots.

“I think I’m drunk,” Liz confesses to Hayley sometime after the beer pong game when they’re sitting on the floor in the basement, a collection of their classmates around them.

Hayley laughs, nodding. “Yeah,” she agrees, “me too.” She reaches for Liz’s hand and Liz can feel the heat of her skin against her own, the way the touch feels suddenly electric, cutting through the fog in her mind. “I want to be your friend, Liz Larson.”

Liz bobs her head up and down because, yes, she wants that too.

And maybe…maybe…

She can’t remember why it seems like a bad idea to want to kiss Hayley, especially because Hayley is smiling at her and holding her hand.

 _Girls don’t want to kiss other girls_ , says a voice in the back of her mind but Liz can’t remember who said it or why.

People start to leave, not that that deters several of the partygoers, who seem intent on going all night even though they’re starting to run out of beer and are starting to get into the “locked” cabinets that were supposedly “off limits” according to the host, who has either given up or never really cared in the first place.

Liz wrinkles her nose against the taste of wine on her tongue but she drinks it anyway, laughing at the way the wine darkens Hayley’s mouth.

Not that she’s thinking about Hayley’s mouth.

“Okay, okay,” Gooch says when the basement has cleared out of most people and it’s just a small collection of boys and girls Liz knows only in the vaguest of terms, the ‘cool kids’ that she’s never imagined spending time with. “Spin the bottle.”

There’s a bit of wine left in the bottle when he holds it up so he finishes it off before motioning for them to sit in a circle and puts the bottle there on the floor.

Liz hesitates but Hayley takes her hand, pulling her in the circle and sitting pressed to her side and Liz can’t remember why she’d wanted to go. She can’t remember how she’s supposed to get home or what time it is or what it feels like to not have Hayley plastered to her side, smelling like flowers and cheap beer.

It takes four spins of the bottle for it to land on Liz and she flushes, embarrassed by the thought of having to kiss Cash, who wiggles his eyebrows at her, making the other girls titter jealously.

At the last second, Liz ducks her head so Cash kisses her cheek, sticky and sloppy, and thankfully Cash laughs, playing it off. “Tease,” he says, pointing at her and Liz winks at him like she’d meant to do that all along.

Liz goes to spin the bottle just as Hayley leans against her shoulder, jostling her enough so that the bottle doesn’t really spin at all. It just points at an awkward tilt in Hayley’s direction and Hayley grins at her, still leaning against her so that Liz can smell the wine on her breath and see how her lashes are starting to stick together from the mascara.

“Oops. Sorry,” Hayley says and then she’s leaning closer, her lips against Liz’s.

And this, Liz thinks, is a real kiss. The kind that makes her feel fuzzy and dizzy and excited, that makes her chest feel all tight, that makes her nervous and thrilled at the same time. The kind that makes Liz just stare at Hayley when they finally pull away, her lips still parted slightly, disappointed that the kiss is suddenly over, even though it felt like it had gone on forever.

“Wow,” Liz says, because it feels like they’re the only ones there and nothing else really matters.

Even though Gooch is clapping and saying something about getting out his phone for a repeat performance.

Hayley leans away, flipping her middle finger up at Gooch. “Shut up,” she says amicably, spinning the bottle and when it lands on one of the football players, they exchange a quick peck on the lips.

Not a lingering kiss.

Not the kind that conjures up fireworks, or so Liz would imagine.

Liz ducks her head, biting her lip, trying to fight the impulse to smile. She can still taste Hayley on her lips, wonders if she tried to kiss her again if Hayley would, or if it was all just part of the game.

The game falls apart soon after, when two of the girls start bickering about who the bottle actually landed on when Cash had spun it and, with the threat of imminent violence, the party falls about equally as quickly.

“Do you need a ride home, Liz?” Hayley asks as they all start up the stairs, leaving the basement behind. “We can give you a ride.”

Liz frowns, thinking this over. “Oh, but, you’ve been-”

“I’m not driving,” Hayley assures her with a laugh. “We have a DD.”

Roger, the always responsible, who looks tired and haggard, clearly having only stuck around to ensure that those he was responsible for made it home safely. So he ushers Liz into his car, into the back seat pressed against Hayley, and Liz feels like spontaneous combustion really is possible.

When Roger pulls into the driveway, Liz climbs out of the backseat, surprised when Hayley follows after her. “I’ll walk you,” she says and Liz smiles.

On the porch, Hayley reaches for her hands again, lacing their fingers together. “I really like you, Liz Larson,” she declares, her words only slightly slurred.

Liz decides that she really doesn’t care if all of this is just because they’re drunk.

Instead, she just blushes. “Really?”

Hayley nods and Liz thinks that they’re going to kiss again, without the pretense of the spin the bottle game, without anyone else around, just the sound of the bugs in the trees and the dim light of the porch lamp.

And then the front door swings open and Liz turns her head to look at her father.

It takes her a second to realize why he looks so absolutely horrified to see her standing there. At first she thinks it’s because she’s still holding hands with Hayley, close enough to kiss her.

But then she realizes it’s because he’s not alone.

The laughing woman with tousled hair and smeared lipstick immediately stops giggling when she realizes Liz is standing there and Liz looks from the woman to her father, a cold truth settling in her chest. She can see the hint of lipstick on his face, the frozen smile turning up his lips, the way one of his buttons is undone.

“Liz-” He says, but she doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

Instead, Liz just pulls away from Hayley, pushing past her father and hurrying toward the stairs, barely making it into the bathroom in time to stick her head in the toilet and throw up. Her throat burns, her eyes water, and she can’t seem to stop.

The beer tastes even worse coming up the other way.

Liz wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, sniffling, spitting into the toilet as the water swirls and disappears. Waiting for a knock on the door, for the soft whisper of her name, so as not to wake Parker.

But there’s nothing.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Liz uses the excuse of her hangover to stay in her room all day. When Parker tries to get her to play with him, she snaps at him, chasing him away with a bunch of words that she really wants to say to her father.

Who doesn’t come to see her.

Her father, who was with another woman while her mother was out of town.

And suddenly Liz can’t help but realize why he’s been working such late hours.

The next day, Liz drags herself to school, ignoring Hayley and everyone she saw at the party that night. Hayley tries to catch her attention, tries to talk to her before English class, but all Liz can think about is the way it had felt to stumble into the woman leaving her house and how Hayley had been there too.

That night, her mother returns from her trip and they all have dinner together as a family and Liz stabs at the food on her plate, trying not to look at her father.

“Hey,” he says as they bring the plates to the sink, “why don’t you and I go on a walk? Just like we used to?”

Liz is embarrassed by how her heart leaps at the idea.

The nights are starting to get chillier, not cold, not necessarily, but enough to feel nice after the baking heat of the day. Winter in the South doesn’t seem to truly start until January, but Liz loves the fall, loves the way the days get shorter, the way the leaves can’t quite decide whether they’re going to change, loves the approaching decorations and how everything seems to smell like apples and cinnamon.

They walk alongside the train tracks, though Liz doesn’t walk on the rails or boards like she used to. She just walks beside her dad, hoping that he’ll say something about the other night, but achingly desperate to pretend like there’s nothing wrong at all. Like things are exactly the way they used to be.

Finally, her dad clears his throat. “You know, Liz, about the other night…” His hands are stuffed into his pockets, his focus on the tracks that stretch out in front of them. Liz looks at him and she can see the look on his face, embarrassed, ashamed. “We need to talk.”

Liz nods, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. “I…okay.”

“You know, I know it can be difficult, being in high school,” he starts and Liz isn’t sure what this has to do with anything but she nods anyway because it seems like the right thing to do. “And you just want to be cool and fit in. And it can be easy to fall in with the wrong crowd.”

“The wrong crowd?” Liz repeats, her brow furrowing. “I don’t-”

But her father just shakes his head. “Whatever was going with you and that girl, I want you to know I’m not going to say anything about it to your mother.”

Liz feels her body get hot, her skin prickling with shame and confusion. It feels harder to breathe, her mind buzzing, trying to follow what her dad is saying. “I don’t understand.”

Her dad stops, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We can help each other out,” he says with a smile, the same sort of smile he used to give her when she was young and they were taking sides against her mother in some silly argument. “Because I know what you saw…it was probably pretty confusing.”

Liz can’t say anything, doesn’t think she could possibly find the words if she tried. Her throat is tight, her tongue heavy in her mouth. All she can do is look at her father, who is still smiling at her. “Being a grown-up can be hard,” he says, undeterred by her silence.

 _A grown up_ , Liz thinks, like she’s still some sort of kid herself.

“Sometimes you think you’re going to love someone but then you just, you just don’t love them like you used to,” her dad continues with a shrug. “And it’s no one’s fault, really. But, what happened the other night, that was a mistake. You made a mistake and so did I, right Lizzy?”

A mistake. Liz thinks it over, tries to remember how it had felt to kiss Hayley, how it really hadn’t felt like a mistake at all.

But she nods anyway.

And her father smiles at her and she feels like she made the right choice.

“We both did something wrong, so now we just have to keep each other’s secrets, huh?” He says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I knew I could count on you to understand.”

Liz smiles and nods. “Yeah, of course.”

He hugs her tight and Liz thinks maybe it won’t be so bad after all to have this secret here between them.

 

* * *

 

Liz stares at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of her parents arguing from down the hallway, feeling too heavy to do anything but stare and listen.

It’s late but she knows she’ll never able to go to sleep now, not with her skin hot, her eyes burning, her jaw clinched tightly.

They’re arguing about the late hours. The fact that her father is never home. And Liz can’t help but listen, feeling heavy with the secret weighing her down, the secret she promised her dad she would keep for him.

She hears her mother shout an accusation, an off-handed comment about another woman, and in the silence that follows, Liz knows that the secret isn’t hers to keep anymore.

And, just like that, by the weekend, her father announces that he’s leaving, that sometimes being a “grown-up is complicated” and “sometimes you just don’t love someone forever” and that he loves someone new, a woman he knows through his work at the doctor’s office, and how they’re going to be moving to Florida together.

Parker starts to sniffle, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. Their dad grins. “Hey, it won’t be so bad, buddy,” he says quickly. “We can go to Disney World when you visit. And I’ll buy a boat. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t want a boat,” Parker says stubbornly, sniffing louder, and when their dad opens his arms to beckon Parker to him, Parker just crawls across the couch and into Liz’s lap.

Miffed, their father glances toward their mother, standing in the entrance to the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest and a blank look on her face. Liz hides her face in Parker’s curls and tries to ignore the feeling that she wants to throw up everywhere, just like she did last weekend.

And this time she can’t even blame it on the sickening amounts of alcohol.

 

* * *

 

They’re in the hospital room, waiting for Parker to come back with the doctors and nurses when her mother sighs, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. “You were supposed to be watching him.”

Liz bristles, clenching her teeth. “I was!” She snaps. “It’s not my fault he’s just a delusional idiot who thinks he’s a ninja! How is that my fault!”

Her mom only shakes her head. “I can’t be everywhere at once, Liz,” she says, sounding far more tired than Liz has ever heard her. “Now that your father is gone, I need you to grow up a little, pick up some of the slack. Watch your brother.”

Liz rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wish I could go with Dad,” she grumbles under her breath, “I bet he’s not psycho about everything like you are.”

They look at each other through narrowed eyes and Liz regrets the words but doesn’t for a second consider taking them back.

“Oh, good idea,” her mother says dryly. “Ask your father to go live with him and his new girlfriend and their stupid boat. But first you have to get him to actually pick up the phone and call you.”

Liz looks away so her mother doesn’t see the tears. “I hate you.”

She can almost pretend like the words don’t matter because that’s when the door opens and Parker comes back in, grinning from ear-to-ear and waving around his new cast. “Sign it Mom!” He requests. “Sign it, Lizzy!”

She does when they’re back at the house, sitting on the couch and eating ice cream for dinner. She has Parker in her lap and she’s doodling absently on his cast, trying to ignore the guilt still pressing down in the center of her chest. Guilt over Parker’s broken arm and guilt over what she said to her mother.

It’s easier to ignore it then to apologize, so that’s Liz’s plan on both fronts.

 

* * *

 

It feels good to be a senior because of the certain knowledge that in nine months, three weeks and five days -barring unforeseen circumstances like alien invasion or snow- she’ll be officially done with high school and ready to put it behind her.

And then comes the email from the foreign exchange student program informing her that a student has requested the Larsons as her host family and Liz thinks about deleting it without saying anything.

And then she thinks about how she’d felt when she’d first proposed the idea, about how nice it would feel to have a ready-made friend, someone to spend time with, someone who might actually like to be around her.

She feels like an idiot for still thinking that such a thing might be possible but still…

Still Liz finds herself bringing up the idea at dinner that night, a few days before the beginning of a new school year. “So remember that whole foreign exchange student thing?” She looks at her mom. “Someone wants to come stay with us.”

At first Liz thinks her mother will shoot the idea down and she feels a bit of relief that someone else might take the decision away from her. But then she just sighs, shaking her head. “If that’s what you want.”

So Liz hits the _accept_ button on the site and it’s official: Megan Walsh from Canada is going to be joining them for the year.

Parker wants to make a sign to let Megan know how to find them at the bus terminal and Liz doodles a sign of her own to humor him, making looping letters on paper, coloring them in carefully. It feels nice to just zone out for the moment, to not have to focus on anything but the sound of markers on paper.

But it doesn’t last.

Because the second Megan Walsh steps off the bus with a stupid smile on her dumb face, Liz is certain that this girl will ruin her life.

 

* * *

 

The worst part about Megan is the fact that, underneath her utter craziness and the fact that she acts like Lindsey Lohan circa _Mean Girls_ , she’s so damn peppy and cheerful that it’s almost impossible to hate her.

Not that Liz doesn’t give it her best effort.

It takes her only a week to realize that being mean to Megan is a little bit like kicking a golden retriever. Not only does Megan look so perplexed by the comments but she’s always quick to come bounding right back, metaphorical tail wagging, ready for another go.

“Stop it,” Liz snaps irritably, unable to help herself, during English class when she and Megan are supposed to be analyzing a short story by Shirley Jackson. Megan is practically turned around in her seat, trying to watch Cash on the opposite side of the room. Liz kicks Megan’s ankle just because she can. “Can you just please pay attention so we can get this over with?”

She’s still bitter about the fact that, for the first time in her high school career, someone finally picked her to be their partner and that someone was Megan. Liz chews the top of her pen, narrowing her eyes as she looks down at the words on the page, ignoring the way her heart presses against her ribs. Normally the girls fight over Cash and she’d expected Megan would do the same, because Megan has been practically drooling over Cash since he sang that stupid song at the opening assembly. But Megan had immediately hurried over to her desk, chattering about something Liz hadn’t even been able to follow because she was so surprised by the fact that Megan was dragging over a chair.

Not that it seems to matter much _now_ , given the fact that Megan isn’t being at all subtle about staring at Cash.

It makes her bite down on her pen harder, until she hears the cheap plastic crack. Liz clears her throat, putting down her pen and turning to the next page in the story. “This is really morbid,” she grumbles, just for something to say.

Megan is frowning at the paper, a crease between her eyebrows. “I know, right,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “What type of person just _lets_ themselves be stoned to death?” She tosses the story onto her desk. “She should have picked up those stones and launched a counter attack. The smaller ones would have been good for a distraction and for driving the mob back and the bigger ones would have made great weapons.”

Liz looks at her, sighing heavily. “What is wrong with you?”

Megan does that golden retriever thing again, flinching slightly at her words. But then she lifts her head, smiling. “I bet no one else would have that answer to Mr. Banks’ question.”

Liz rolls her eyes. “Well, the question is about the danger of tradition _not_ battle strategies so…yeah, probably not.”

But Megan is pulling her notebook out, trying to make it less obvious that she’s craning her neck around to look at Cash again. Liz has to resist the urge to pick up her pen again and start gnawing. “What’s the big deal with him anyway?” Liz grumbles, leaning back in her seat. “You’re basically obsessed with him.”

Megan looks completely unabashed by the smile on her face. “Cash is definitely the hottest guy in school,” she remarks. “He’s like…” She tilts her head, considering. “Main character hot.”

Liz lifts her eyebrows. “Um, what?”

“You know, like the guy in all those movies that you just know the main girl is going to end up with because he’s so handsome and charming and nice and he just gets her, you know?” Megan says with a shrug, flipping open to a clean page in her notebook. “Cash gets me.”

Liz barks out a laugh. “Oh, he does?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize you guys have had so many deep conversations.”

That strange sensation is back in her chest, the tightness that comes from the feeling that her heart is trying to press against her ribs. The ache that she figures is the result of annoyance.

Not that Megan seems to notice the tone in Liz’s voice. “I mean, he will,” she says confidently. “It’s still early.”

“In your movie?” Liz mocks with a roll of her eyes.

Rather than answer, Megan just asks her, “Haven’t you ever had someone just get you?”

Briefly, Liz thinks about her dad, how they used to take walks together when she was little. She thinks about Cameron and the brief moments she thought she might have been in love. She thinks about Hayley and how it had felt to be leaned against her.

Liz shakes her head. “No,” she says flatly, pointing at the notebook with her pen. “Stop wasting time. Just write something down.”

Megan, dutifully, starts writing something down on the paper, though Liz is honestly afraid to see what she’s coming up with in response to the question on the board. Rather than read over Megan’s answer, she just glances across the room at Cash, trying to figure out what it is that Megan and every other girl in school even sees in him.

He’s not even that cute.

And his band is pretty stupid.

Not that anyone has ever asked _her_ opinion.

 

* * *

 

Megan leans against her, unhelpfully heavy and clumsy as Liz tries to drag her up the stairs. Parker has ceased to be any sort of help, bouncing around at the foot of the steps and promising to catch them when they fall. “I have the best reflexes,” he assures Liz with a nod of his curly head. “I got your back.”

Megan giggles, swaying to the side and nearly putting Parker’s reflexes to the test. “Thanks Parker.”

Liz just tugs on her impatiently, gritting her teeth. “Less talking,” she grumbles. “More walking.”

Thankfully they manage to get up the steps and into Megan’s bedroom without further incident. Liz gives Megan a push, watching her land on the bed without any sort of effort to stop herself from hitting the mattress. “What,” she says through her teeth, “is wrong with you?”

She wishes that she had started keeping track of how often she’s been saying that phrase recently.

Megan looks up at her, squinting. “Are you mad at me?”

Liz crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. “Why would I be mad?” She says, managing to resist the urge to add on something more sarcastic. Like _because you just collapsed on our porch like an idiot?_ Or maybe _because I was actually worried about you for like five seconds?_

Or maybe _because everything you said about me is true?_

Unfortunately, it seems like the latter is exactly what Megan had in mind. “Because of what I said,” she says, her voice lilting, stuck in a weird in-between position of being both morose and strangely upbeat. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Liz.”

When Megan reaches out a hand toward her, Liz swats it away. “You didn’t hurt my feelings,” she says quickly. “I don’t have feelings.”

She means it as a joke but it comes out strangely flat.

But Megan just nods, looking sorrowful. “Yes, you do,” she says gravely. “You have so many feelings.”

“Are you drunk?” Liz snaps rather than let Megan’s words actually settle over her.

“The truth serum,” Megan tells her. “I never even thought it was real.”

Liz rolls her eyes. “Okay, well whatever, I don’t really care,” she says. “Just don’t, you know, choke on your own vomit or anything.”

When Liz turns to leave, Megan sits up suddenly, moving off the bed with a surprising quickness that Liz definitely wouldn’t have thought her capable of given their previous difficulty in even putting one foot in front of the other.

Megan puts her arms around her, a successful hug for the first time since her arrival in Newton. For the briefest of moments, Liz feels her heart jump in her chest, a sudden burst of elation and excitement that she didn’t think herself capable of.

Anymore.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Megan says into her hair, sounding brokenhearted by the idea. “I’m sorry.”

Liz pushes her away, turning her head so Megan can’t see her face. She’s afraid of what her expression might give away. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps. “Just…go to sleep.”

It feels good to slam her bedroom door, to leave Megan and Parker to their own devices and just climb into bed and pull the covers around herself. It feels good to pretend like she can just shut everything out.

More than anything, Liz is just ashamed of herself. Ashamed because all it took was one five second hug from Megan to get her heart thumping in her chest and her skin prickling with goosebumps.

Ashamed because, after everything that’s happened, a pretty girl still makes her blush.

Liz rolls over, hiding her face in her pillow, ignoring thoughts of Megan, running through her mental tally of how many days she has to suffer through until the end of the year. And how many days she has to endure of Megan there, invading every facet of her life.

It would be much easier if she would just leave.

 

* * *

 

At the party, Liz drinks too much and ends up in a bathtub with Gooch and she laughs a little too loudly and sits a little too close to him and tries a little too hard to be normal and to have fun.

“Bernard,” she says seriously, putting a hand on his bare shoulder, “do you get me?”

He laughs, nodding. “Course.” He kisses her and she lets him and it’s hard to tell if she’s tasting the alcohol on her own tongue or his.

After that, she doesn’t remember much of anything at all.

The next thing she does remember is waking up on a couch, her face itchy, her head pounding, her vision blurry. She might be dying and she’s strangely okay with that, especially if it means she doesn’t have to endure the feeling that something furry and dead has crawled in her throat.

“Liz?” The voice belongs to Megan and Liz can practically hear the stupid smile on her stupid face. “I brought you a waffle.”

The idea makes her simultaneously elated and nauseated. She turns her head in the direction of Megan’s voice and the smile on Megan’s face immediately fades. Her eyebrows knit together and her expression is almost comically surprised. “Oh. Your face.”

Liz manages to stumble to the bathroom, Megan trailing behind her. There’s a dick drawn on her face. Of course there is.

Narrowing her eyes, Liz looks over at Megan. “I hate you.”

But she cracks just the barest hint of a smile. And so does Megan. And Liz feels like something comes loose in her chest.

 

* * *

 

The whole trained assassin bombshell is definitely not something that Liz was expecting to have to deal with her senior year of high school but she’s starting to get the feeling that being a Larson just means you have to be ready to expect the unexpected.

Like dads who just disappear with bimbos from the office and little brothers with broken arms and foreign exchange students who really aren’t from Canada.

And the whole almost dying in a car chase thing. Which, you know, is kinda epic when she thinks about it.

Mostly, she’s okay. Liz can feel a warm fuzziness in her head that she thinks probably has more to do with the medicine in her veins and not the bump on her forehead and her side is sore but otherwise okay. _Almost dying in a car chase_ might be a little too dramatic but Bernard looks impressed when he comes to visit her and so she tries to smile, brushing the whole thing off, ignoring the throbbing behind her eyes. She lets him kiss her again and when Megan walks in she feels a small thrill of victory at the brief expression of hurt that flashes across Megan’s face.

Megan, who is actually a spy who has probably bumped off a hundred people and can definitely hold her own in a car chase.

Megan, who has been a pain in her ass since she stepped off that bus and waltzed through the front door.

Megan, who had offered to leave, to disappear and take any sort of trouble with her.

It’s an idea that makes the ache in her side feel worse, and the throbbing in her head increase in intensity. She tries not to think about the countdown that she keeps running in her mind, the numbers that she knows by heart and fingers like she imagines you would a rosary. The numbers that signal the end of Megan, that signal the moment where her house and her family and her life is hers again.

Now though, Liz can’t think of anything that she wants less than for Megan to go.

And not just because Megan has brought her ice cream, a carton that she’s somehow smuggled in, a smile on her face.

“You know, I could get used to this,” Liz says, watching as Megan drags a chair over the side of her bed. “Bring me more gifts to apologize for almost killing me.”

She means it as a joke but Megan still does the kicked golden retriever thing. She hands over a spoon, a hopeful smile on her face. “I’m sorry?”

“Forgiven,” Liz says, clinking her spoon against Megan’s. “For now,” she teases, digging out a huge spoonful of the ice cream.

They eat for a while in silence, with Megan attempting to dig out the brownie pieces until Liz pushes her spoon out of the way with a faux scowl on her face. “Cheating,” she declares. “Leave some for me.”

Megan dutifully abandons her pursuit of the brownie pieces, licking ice cream off her spoon. “This is probably the best thing ever,” she says. “We never got to have ice cream back at Prescott.”

Liz feels her eyes go wide. “What kind of horrible place is that!”

“The kind of place where they teach you to kill a guy with a stapler and dismantle a bomb,” Megan says breezily, popping another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

Liz waits for her to laugh and assure her that she’s kidding but Megan just helps herself to more ice cream, unbothered by her words.

“Huh,” Liz says, leaning back against her pillows. “Sorry I was a bitch to you earlier, please don’t kill me with a stapler.” She’s mostly kidding.

Megan rolls her eyes. “Why would I want to kill you?” She says absently. “You’re my best friend.”

Liz swallows, looking at her. “I am?” Her voice is quiet, nearly stuck in her throat.

A part of her is moved by Megan’s words, touched to have finally earned that all important title.

A part of her feels weirdly disappointed.

Megan grins at her. “Duh,” she says. “I mean, I only know like ten people but still. You get me.”

Liz wants to say something, feels the words, the idea, the feeling, bubbling inside her chest. But just as suddenly, the feeling goes away and she doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, she just pushes Megan’s spoon away to get a piece of brownie batter for herself.

After another several moments of silence, Liz lifts her eyes to look at Megan. “You’re not going to leave, right?”

Despite their earlier conversation some of the worry and fear still sits in her chest, churning her stomach, making it hard to breathe. She doesn’t want Megan to go. Liz thinks that’s the most important truth she knows right now.

Megan shakes her head, though Liz can see the doubt in her eyes, the uncertainty that she’s not actually making the right choice. “No,” she says. “I won’t leave you.”

Liz figures Megan means that she won’t leave her and her mother and Parker but she doesn’t bother to clarify.

 

* * *

 

As awesome as it was to stab someone, it’s even more awesome to get to sleep in on a Sunday morning with homecoming behind her and a heaviness to her muscles that speaks of a well-earned exhaustion. The sun streaming through her windows makes her feel even heavier, and all the more languid and Liz smiles to herself, pulling the covers around her shoulders and snuggling deeper into the blankets.

It all feels a bit like a dream, though the sort of fever dream the child of Luc Besson and John Hughes might have. She cracks one eye open and looks at the pastel pink dress, hanging carefully on the back of her closet door, looking no worse for wear despite the scuffles from the night before. She’d been exhausted in every part of her body last night, but she’d still made sure to slip the dress off and return it to the hanger, smoothing her hand along the fabric before collapsing into bed. She hadn’t really thought that she’d ever go to homecoming or any of the school dances. And yet…she had.

Thanks to Megan.

Liz smiles at the thought and then shakes her head, trying to stamp down the gesture. If she’s smiling about anyone, it should be Bernard, the guy who took her to the dance. The one who walked her to her door last night and kissed her politely goodbye with the promises to text her in the morning. She shouldn’t be smiling about the girl she was giggling with when they walked in the door. The one she hugged good night in the hallway.

Right?

Liz finally pulls herself out of bed when the rest of the house starts moving -she can hear Parker thundering up and down the stairs, his dreams of being a ninja having been immediately replaced by his dreams of becoming a secret agent. She can hear her mother, her voice already tired and wearing thin on patience, telling Parker to sit down and make himself something to eat for breakfast. And she can hear the sounds of Megan in her room, going through her impressive morning routine of crunches and sit-ups, something that makes a lot more sense now that Liz has all the pieces to the insane puzzle that is Megan Walsh.

It seems impossible to believe that this is the type of thing that she considers normal all of the sudden.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” This is the second time Liz has had to ask that particular question in a week and she’s not very fond of the way the words fit on her tongue, or the way her stomach feels oily as she considers the possibility.

It seems strange that she’s even more worried about Megan leaving now than she was when Megan first brought up the idea back in the hospital. It had been easy to talk Megan into staying then, with the looming threat of Knox and 84 to contend with. But now that threat is, for the most part, taken care of.

What if Megan doesn’t feel the need to keep on playing Normal High School Girl? Or, even worse, what if she’s decided that she doesn’t want to keep being a Normal High School Girl with the Larsons.

They’re sitting at lunch, outside on the quad, because the early October weather is still nice enough to encourage seniors to leave the noisy, crowded, smelly cafeteria and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. The words leave her mouth suddenly, unexpectedly, and Liz feels the tips of her ears growing hot as Megan looks up from her lunch tray.

“Leave?” Megan asks, plastic fork still in hand. “Why would I leave?”

She makes it sound so simple. Liz can feels her ears getting hotter. She shrugs, stabbing at her mass-produced square of lasagna. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “I just…I mean now that everything is over…you don’t have to stay to protect us…”

Megan scoffs, shaking her head. “Yeah, sure, but I still want to stay. I mean, if that’s okay?” She looks slightly nervous as she asks the question, but she doesn’t really give Liz the chance to reassure her. “Besides, I feel like I’m kinda starting to fit in here.”

“Right,” Liz says, “I mean with Roger and everything.”

“Yeah, Roger is cool,” Megan says absently with a nod. “I mean he’s funny. He makes great puns.”

Liz stares down at her food, giving it another stab. “Total boyfriend material,” she says sarcastically.

Megan shrugs without any of the enthusiasm Liz has seen her previously display when it comes to talking about ice cream or ninja training or homework or basically anything else since she’d first shown up in Newton. “We should do something this weekend,” she says, apropos of nothing except the sudden desire to change the subject.  

“I think I’m still recovering from _last_ weekend,” Liz remarks. It seems impossible to believe that homecoming and her first foray into corndog weaponry had only happened seven days before.

“I’m thinking something with less espionage,” Megan assures her with a hint of a smile. “Or, you know, _no_ espionage at all.”

That something ends up being pizza with the rest of the Larson clan, sitting around the dinner table using napkins for plates and drinking sodas out the can, which Parker seems to find endlessly exciting. Liz is almost embarrassed by how happy she feels in the moment, how she’s smiling at her mom’s stupid jokes and Parker’s attempts to burp the alphabet and Megan’s stupid laughter at both things.

Finally Liz kicks at Parker’s chair under the table. “Gross, stop,” she says around her smile. “You’re acting like a crazy person.”

Parker glares at her. “I was almost to Z!” He throws the crust of his pizza at her, which Liz barely manages to swat out of the way before it hits her forehead. “You made me mess up!”

“Don’t throw your food at me!” Liz says as she throws the food back at him. “I’ll lock you in the basement like Harry Potter.”

“He didn’t live in the basement, idiot,” Parker retorts, sticking his tongue out at her. “He lived in the closet under the stairs!”

Liz goes to kick at him again but he scoots away. “Don’t act like you know more about Harry Potter than I do.”

Parker picks up the full piece of pizza on his plate and readies to throw it in her direction when their mother finally intervenes. “Enough! Before I make you clean every inch of this kitchen.”

The threat is enough to settle them both down. Liz catches Parker’s eye and smirks and he snickers at her, taking a bite of his pizza.

After a moment, Megan says, “Wait…who’s Harry Potter?”

The piece of pizza falls dramatically from Parker’s hand and onto the table. Liz just looks at her incredulously. “Seriously?”

Megan looks at the three faces staring at her and seems only slightly insecure. “Um…yeah?”

Parker just groans, shaking his head and covering his face with his hand. “This is hopeless.”

After dinner, they move into the living room to watch a movie on the couch, some 80s movie of her mother’s choosing that Megan seems excited about even if Liz herself has never even heard of the movie. But there’s no point in arguing, not when the two of them are talking about Molly Ringwald and she has Megan on one side of her and Parker on the other and that warm and bubbling feeling is back and she’s starting to feel so full that she just might burst.

It isn’t until later, as she’s brushing her teeth, that Liz realizes no one ever answered Megan’s question.

Megan is tossing decorative pillows onto the floor when Liz knocks on her open door and when Megan smiles at her its like they haven’t seen each other in months. Liz brandishes the book in her hand by way of an explanation for her presence, handing it over as she steps into the room. “Harry Potter.”

Megan takes the book, looking at the cover. “Oh, cool. I’ll definitely check it out.”

Liz shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “I seriously cannot believe you don’t know who Harry Potter is,” she says. “Not to mention your reaction was pretty underwhelming.”

“At Prescott we never really got to read books or watch movies or anything,” Megan tells her. “Unless it was a manual on how to assemble a bomb or something like that.”

“Still don’t know why you didn’t want to go back,” Liz says sarcastically, raising her eyebrows.

Megan smiles at her and Liz lingers there for a moment, standing half in the doorway and half out. Neither of them say anything and finally Liz steps back and fully into the hallway. “Okay. Night.”

It doesn’t occur to her until she’s back in her own room that she was hoping Megan would ask her to stay.

For what, she’s not entirely sure.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god, Liz,” Megan says as she practically throws open the bedroom door and shamelessly lets herself into Liz’s bedroom. “Seriously, that was the best thing ever.”

Liz groans. “Seriously, Megan, what are you doing?” She looks at her phone and groans again. “Why are you awake right now?”

“It’s six o’clock,” Megan says, as if that actually makes it better and not somehow even worse. “We’re normally up right now.”

Liz glares at her. “Yeah, but not on a Saturday. That’s criminal. Go away.” She pulls the comforter over her head but she hopes that Megan doesn’t actually leave.

Not that she really _wants_ to be awake and talking to Megan right now. But she doesn’t want her to go.

It’s complicated.

Though, Liz wishes she hadn’t wished quite as hard for Megan to stay when Megan climbs up onto the bed beside her, sighing happily as she flops down. It’s then that Liz realizes that she’s holding onto _The Sorcerer’s Stone_ , a stupid smile still on her face. “This was the best book ever.”

Liz rolls her eyes. “You’ve never read any books before.”

Megan opens her mouth to refute the comment but scrunches up her nose instead, considering. “Okay, well, but that’s not the point,” she says finally. “I mean it was the best. Like they can do magic, how cool is that? And they get to go to a cool wizard school?! Like it’s kinda like Prescott except they don’t teach them how to kill someone with their wands. Oh! What house do you think you’d be in? Probably-”

“You know,” Liz interrupts just because she wants Megan to shut up, “there’s more books.”

Megan bolts upright suddenly and Liz hides her face in the blanket to keep from laughing. “There’s more!”

Liz thinks that Megan might get the book off the shelf and hurry off to her room to start reading it, giving her a few more hours of blissful, perfect sleep. But, no such luck. Megan just climbs back into bed beside her, opening to the first page. And then she starts reading out loud, which honestly doesn’t annoy Liz as much as she thinks it should.

Not that Megan seems to mind when Liz eventually falls back to sleep, dreaming about Megan and magic and slippery snakes lurking just below the floorboards.

 

* * *

 

Liz thinks that introducing Megan to _Harry Potter_ is either the best or worst thing she’s ever done with her life.

Even after Liz wakes up for good on Saturday morning, she and Megan stay in bed together, pressed together to avoid falling over the sides, taking turns reading from the book. Megan is in the middle of reading about phoenix tears when Liz’s phone buzzes on her bedside table and she studies the text message on the screen. It’s from Bernard, inviting her over to his house later to “hang out” which Liz is certain is a euphemism of some kind.

She hesitates for only a moment before typing her response: _can’t, I’m busy today_. She doesn’t bother to explain that she’s busy sitting around in her pajamas reading _Harry Potter_ with Megan. She doesn’t bother to think about the fact that she would rather spend the rest of the weekend exactly like this, enjoying Megan’s company, rather than “hanging out” with her supposed boyfriend.

Honestly, the thought of considering Bernard her boyfriend is unfortunate.

Megan sighs, her head dropping onto Liz’s shoulder. “I love Dumbledore,” she says and Liz wonders if she’s intentionally scooting herself closer or if she even realizes.

Liz figures the only thing she can do is pat Megan’s head sympathetically, letting her touch linger for the briefest of moments. And when her phone buzzes again, she ignores it, taking the book from Megan to read the next chapter. Megan keeps her head resting on her shoulder, their elbows touching.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, when Liz sees Bernard at school, she turns her head when he tries to kiss her and dumps him before first period. He seems annoyed but not at all surprised, shaking his head dismissively as he turns and heads in the other direction. “We never would have worked out anyway,” he calls back without turning around. “You’re too uptight.”

Liz glares at his back, huffing out a breath. “And you’re too immature,” she retorts, even though she knows he can’t hear her. “You don’t get me.”

At lunch, Liz brings it up casually, her tone largely devoid of emotion because she honestly doesn’t feel like her brief attempt at a romance with Gooch is anything worth mourning. “So Gooch and I broke up,” Liz says as she stabs a piece of lettuce with her fork.

She doesn’t even get the chance to eat before Megan is sitting beside her on her side of the table, arms around her, reciting platitudes that sound exactly like they came straight from _Clueless_ or _10 Things I Hate About You_. Liz attempts to elbow her away but doesn’t exactly put much force into it. “Please stop watching teen movies from the 90s.”

Megan isn’t deterred, giving her a squeeze. “You know what we should do!” She grins, not waiting for an answer. “Eat ice cream and watch movies and-”

“If you touch my hair or my nails, I will kill you,” Liz says, holding up a hand to stop Megan before she can get too carried away. “Which is, you know, a metaphor. Since I’m not a secret assassin.”

Megan grins. “Do you want me to teach you how to kill someone? Is that what this break-up needs? Revenge?”

“Please stop being so weird,” Liz groans, letting her forehead fall against Megan’s shoulder. “How long until you become a normal person?”

But she’s smiling, her annoyance strictly for show.

Not that Megan needs to know that.

 

* * *

 

Her first impression of Megan, that she would ruin her life, proves to be true, just not in the way that Liz had originally anticipated.

It would be a lie to say that her crush on Megan is new, but it’s gotten to the point where she can’t ignore it anymore, can’t pretend like it doesn’t exist.

It’s the little things that start to worm their way into her mind first, the subtle things that Megan does that make Liz smile or roll her eyes or do both at the same time. How Megan always smiles at her like they’ve just been reunited after years at war, rather than just suffering through separate classes. How Megan always has a story -or twenty- about her day and how she makes even the most ridiculously boring occurrences sound like an adventure that Liz is almost jealous that she wasn’t a part of. How she still wears the shirt Liz gave her on the first day of school -unironically because she doesn’t know how to do anything else. How she and Parker seem committed to eat their way through every type of candy possible because Megan has clearly never been introduced to sugar before and, if Liz is being honest, that might have been a good thing. How she insists on watching the same five movies over and over again and how she always snorts in the same places of _Mean Girls_ and cries at the end of _Bring It On_ every time when Torrance and Cliff finally kiss.

And there’s the big things too. How Megan doesn’t seem to get tired of spending her time with Liz, how they sit together every day at lunch, how it’s assumed that they’ll be partners for school assignments or projects. Liz has never had someone who assumed they would work together, someone who actually wanted to pair up with her. Except for Cameron, not that she enjoys remembering that embarrassing part of her past.

And there’s Megan’s laugh. Her smile. Her endless freaking energy that Liz wishes she could switch off, just once, just for a little while. How with Megan around it doesn’t feel like something is missing. How it’s easier to smile, to laugh, to feel fizzy and full, happy, like she can’t remember being in a long time.

It’s embarrassing and annoying and awful all at once but Liz can’t shake the thought from her mind, can’t ignore it. Her first real high school crush happens to be on a retired teenage assassin with an obsession for 90s teen movies.

And who also has a boyfriend, which is probably the most embarrassing, annoying, and awful part of all.

It’s almost too easy for Liz to forget about Roger. She and Megan spend so much time together that there’s almost no room for anyone else. It’s easy to imagine that Megan feels even a small part of what Liz feels when they’re together, that there’s no one else who could tempt Megan away from her.

But then there’s Roger, who shows up to take Megan out to lunch and to a movie on Saturday afternoon, leaving a stupid, empty Megan-shaped hole in the Larson house. Not that Liz notices that kind of thing.

Except, you know, she does. It’s hard not to.

She lays down on the couch, feeling lackluster and unmotivated to do anything but pull the blanket over her and start aimlessly clicking through channels. Liz tries to ignore the quiet, the fact that it feels like something is missing. Again. She tries to ignore the stinging embarrassment building up like a storm cloud in her chest, reminding her that she’s an idiot for thinking that her feelings for Megan actually _meant_ something to anyone but her, or that they meant something at all.

Liz’s eyes prick with tears and she attempts to swallow around the thickness in her throat. She’s ashamed for thinking that this time it would be different.

“Hey,” her mother says as she walks into the living room with a basket of laundry in her hands. “Help me fold these things, will you?”

Liz quickly turns her head, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “Yeah, okay.”

Unfortunately, she’s not fooling her mother. Her mom’s brow furrows, concern crossing her features. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Liz says quickly, though the stupid, stubborn tears that drop from her eyes at that exact moment betray her. “Nothing is wrong.”

Her mother puts down the basket, sitting beside her on the couch. She puts her hand on Liz’s back, rubbing circles the way she used to do when Liz was small and everything just seemed easier. “Honey-”

Liz barely manages to hold back a sob, folding against her mother, hiding her face against her mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says and it feels easier to breath now that she’s releasing some of the pressure in her chest. “I’m really sorry.”

“What’s the matter, Lizzy?” Her mother asks, holding onto her tightly. “What happened?”

“I’m…I think I’m…” Liz lets out a shuddery breath, holding onto a fistful of her mother’s shirt, unable to look at her. “I think I’m gay.”

The words slip free before she can really think about them, before she can weigh them in her mind. Before she can attach a meaning to them and attach that meaning to herself.

Briefly, her mother tenses and Liz can feel the tears in her eyes again, hot on her cheeks. She remembers her father, his reaction, how he had promised not to tell her mother what he had seen. How he’d been unable to hide the fact that he was, ever so slightly, ashamed of her.

But then her mother starts rubbing circles on her back once more, kissing the top of her head. “Oh, Lizzy,” she says softly. “Is that what you’re sorry for?”

There are so many things that she’s sorry for, honestly. But Liz just nods because it seems like the easiest thing to do. “Dad said-”

Now her mother definitely tenses, moving back slightly so she can look at Liz. “What did your father say?”

Liz can’t look at her, shaking her head. “Nothing…” But still her mother stares at her and she adds, “That I did something wrong and I think he was embarrassed and he left and-”

“Elizabeth,” her mother says sharply and Liz looks at her, surprised. “Your father left because he’s a cheating bastard who couldn’t keep it in his pants. He left because he’s selfish and honestly doesn’t deserve to be a part of this family. He did not leave because of anything you did. And you…” Her mother stops, swallowing, and Liz can see her mother’s eyes fill with tears, something she hasn’t seen in years. “And you have nothing to be ashamed of. I love you, you hear me?”

Liz nods and when her mother pulls her close once more, Liz clings to her, crying into her shoulder. It feels nice to sit here in her arms, to be rocked by her mother like she’s a little girl again, even if just for a few minutes.

Finally, her mother asks, “You know what will help you feel better? Folding clothes.”

Liz lets out a shaky laugh and she lets her mother pull her up to her feet and toward the waiting laundry basket. It isn’t until they’re halfway through the folding that Liz realizes it’s just a trap. “So, why the tears?” Her mother asks and when Liz gives her a look, she adds, “You were already crying before I even got here.”

Swallowing, Liz shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

Her mother folds one of Parker’s tee shirts, looking at Liz out of the corner of her eye. “Is this about Megan?”

Liz freezes, a towel hanging loosely in her fingers. “What?”

“You think I don’t notice what’s going on but I’m not as oblivious as you think.”

Liz only shakes her head, not bothering to answer the question. She isn’t sure that she has the words. Not that her mother needs a response to encourage her to continue you. “At first I thought you were jealous because Megan had a little boyfriend and you didn’t. Or maybe it was Roger, because you guys were always friends and-”

Liz makes a face. “Roger? Seriously?”

“But,” her mother interjects pointedly, “it doesn’t have anything to do with Roger, does it?”

Liz thinks about denying it, thinks about arguing with her mother, pushing her away like she always does when she gets too close to the reality of how she’s really feeling. As if that could somehow make everything less true or change the way that she’s feeling.

But she just shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”

Her mother just smiles, which is kinda annoying. “It’s not stupid,” she says. “Megan is…well…she’s definitely something.” Liz smirks. “And you’re happy now that she’s here.”

Liz sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And she’s happy here too. Megan loves being around you,” her mother continues, folding another one of Parker’s shirts. “And you’re a very pretty girl and-”

“ _Mom_ ,” Liz interrupts quickly, scowling. “It doesn’t matter. Or did you miss the fact that Megan isn’t here right now because she’s out with her boyfriend.”

Her mom shrugs, restacking the folded clothes in the basket. “I know I’m just your mother, but I know things sometimes.”

Liz rolls her eyes but she’s smiling. “Since when?”   

Her mother kisses her forehead on her way toward the staircase. Liz sighs, dropping back down onto the couch and wrapping the blanket around herself. It’s strange how she feels lighter somehow, like a part of her is missing but in a good way, some of the weight taken off her shoulders.

She thinks it’s been a long time since she let her mother help her carry something.

 

* * *

 

Megan spears one of her green beans with a fork and announces, “Roger and I broke up.”

Both Liz and her mother look up at this news, but Parker keeps making a pile with his mashed potatoes. It’s been almost a week since Liz told her mother everything, since she gave voice to the secret that she’s pretty sure that she’s been keeping for the past seven years of her life. She can’t bring herself to look at her mother right now, not in the wake of Megan’s casual statement.

“Oh.” It’s her mother who speaks first, reaching across the table to pat Megan on the wrist. “Honey, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What happened?”

Megan smiles at her, not a single bulb in her megawatt smile dimmed by this recent development. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” she says, nodding. “It just…it was kinda weird, you know, but it just didn’t seem like it does in the movies.” She shrugs.

Liz frowns slightly. “Not everything has to be like it is in those stupid movies,” she says, her voice stonier than she’d intended.

She knows this because she’s started looking for herself in the movies they watch and can’t quite figure out where she fits in.

Megan nods. “Yeah, I know that,” she says. “But still…I think the feelings should be the same, right? That magical, like happy feeling like you’ve just cut the right wire on the explosive when you had only three seconds left? Like you could just blow up but you didn’t so everything seems so much clearer and more exciting?”

Liz’s mother pats Megan’s hand once more. “Those experiences are not universal,” she says gently. “But I think you have the right idea.”

Liz, for one, feels like she knows exactly what Megan is talking about. Though she doesn’t know if Megan is the bomb or the successfully cut wire in her particular situation. “Like they just get you,” she says, echoing Megan’s previous words for weeks before.

“Yeah, exactly,” Megan says, nodding eagerly. “Just like that.”

Once again, Liz resists looking at her mother.

Parker adds a green bean to his mashed potato tower. “Boyfriends are dumb,” he declares, looking over at Megan. “Why would you want a boyfriend when you could just be a secret agent?”

“Exactly Parker,” Liz says, leaning across the table to give Parker a high-five. “I like the way you think.”

 

* * *

 

That Friday, Parker declares that they need to build a fort and that it’s absolutely crucial that Liz and Megan help him. Though, it soon becomes obvious that what he means by helping is that Liz and Megan follow his orders perfectly while he points and commands like a miniature dictator.

But, Liz has to admit, their fort turns out pretty awesome. It takes up most of the living room and seems to be structurally sound, thanks to the variety of support beams made out of couch cushions and household supplies. Nearly every blanket in the house becomes fair game, making up a comfortably plush pallet on the ground that provides the perfect place to lay around and watch _Jurassic Park_ on the TV that was absorbed into the fort. Even though Liz and Parker have seen the movie dozens of times, it’s somehow more exciting in the cavern that is Fort Parker.

The unexpected consequence of their amazing and cozy fort is that Liz ends up falling asleep right there among the piles of pillows and blankets, Megan on side and Parker on the other. At one point, she briefly slips into that purgatory of being half-awake and half-asleep, where the very world seems like a giant liminal space. The sight of her brother sprawled on his back, sleeping with his hand thrown over his face, is enough to make her smile. The sight of Megan curled up on her side, brow furrowed slightly even as she sleeps, is enough to make Liz close her eyes and slip back to sleep once more.

The next time to Liz wakes up, she can tell that its morning, but early still; faint light streams in through the many blankets that make up the fort and she can hear the quiet waking sounds of the birds, the hum of the neighborhood still at rest.

There’s a weight against her, warm and heavy and solid and for a second, Liz thinks that it’s Parker, until she realizes that Parker is still deep in sleep behind her. At some point, she and Megan gravitated toward one another and suddenly everything comes into a sharp, vibrant focus. The feeling of Megan’s body against hers, the way that Megan’s breath is tickling the skin on Liz’s shoulder, how Liz feels like she is hyper aware of every millimeter of space between them.

Her body flushes with panic and embarrassment, the exact way it had felt to have her father open the door and see her hand holding so tightly to Hayley’s. But there’s another part of her, a part that might be just a little bit stronger, that thinks this moment is one that she would want to keep frozen in time forever.

Liz shifts slightly but the movement seems to be enough to wake Megan and Liz tries to ignore the sting of disappointment. The certainty that their closeness will be broken, that she’ll no longer have the excuse to reach out and touch Megan, to be like this with her again.

But Megan doesn’t look away, doesn’t seem even remotely embarrassed to find herself nearly face to face with Liz. “This fort is pretty great, huh?”

It’s such a stupid, Megan comment that Liz can help but snort out a laugh, feeling her body flood with heat and the same sharp tingles that seem to follow the moment when your foot falls asleep. But it also makes her feel strangely like crying and she ducks her head, letting her forehead brush against Megan’s chest, trying to push through the sensation.

Megan puts an arm around her waist, like it’s easy and effortless and Liz wonders how it’s possible to feel a tangle of butterflies in her stomach and her aching heart at the same time. “Why did you break up with Roger?” She hears herself ask and it’s the first time they’ve talked about the breakup aside from the requisite threat of kicking Roger’s ass that they both knew Liz couldn’t follow through with.

For a while, Megan doesn’t answer and Liz is pretty sure this is the longest that Megan has ever gone without speaking, baring the required hours of sleep. She thinks that maybe Megan _has_ gone to sleep and she’s almost relieved that the conversational topic is able to pass by unnoticed because Liz is suddenly embarrassed for asking, suddenly horrified by the prospect that Megan could have heard her question and somehow determined that the answer that Liz was hoping for was _because of you_.

But then, Megan sighs, a quiet sound that seems too melancholy in the fort on an early Saturday. “When I was at Prescott, I thought I wanted to be a spy, and I was really good at it, you know? I was the best. And…and I thought that was what I wanted. I thought I was happy.”

Liz listens, unmoving, against Megan’s chest. Megan hasn’t talked much about Prescott, not outside of their conversation on the roof or the required bits of information. She knows that Megan dreams about it sometimes but pretends not to hear her whimpering and restless in her sleep.

“But, you know, then I started to realize that there was _more_ to everything…just…more. More than Prescott,” Megan continues. “And I realized I was only happy because that was really all I knew and that when I realized there was something else I wanted that instead. I wanted to be here, to be normal, to be…I dunno…just…something different.

“I think Roger was my Prescott,” Megan says and Liz finally lifts her head to look at her. “You know? Do you ever just want something different?”

Liz can only nod because it seems impossible to do or say anything else. She’s aware of her heart pounding wildly in her chest, though she thinks it might be out of fear more than anything.

It would be impossible for her to say exactly what she’s afraid of it.

There are so many things.

Megan moves closer, just a millimeter, erasing one of those small slivers of space between them that Liz had felt so acutely aware of before. When their lips touch, it’s a real kiss. Not like it was with Hayley, which had been all fast fire and desperation and fumbling pressure. But real because Liz can feel it all the way down to her toes, because it sets off the fireworks in her brain, because it doesn’t make her feel exposed or afraid or ashamed. Because it’s Megan.

It’s soft and tentative, a question and an answer all at once, and Liz thinks that actually _this_ is the moment that she doesn’t want to ever end. She wants to keep this and save it in her mind, to push everything else in her mind away and to always remember how she feels right now. In Megan’s arms, with Megan’s lips on hers, their hair messy from sleep, close together on the floor in the middle of a blanket fort. Because, in this moment, Megan _gets_ her and she gets Megan and their kiss and their closeness is the only assurance they need of that fact.

When they finally move away, putting that millimeter of space back between them, Megan is smiling and when she starts to speak, Liz is quick to cover Megan’s mouth with her hand. “Don’t ruin this moment.”

So, Megan just settles with saying, “Wow,” the word muffled by Liz’s hand.

Liz can’t even bring herself to protest that particular sentiment. She gets Megan’s bomb metaphor now, more than ever. Everything is sharp and in focus, though she feels like she might have exploded anyway.

They kiss again, and Liz pulls in a breath that’s more Megan than oxygen.

Wow, indeed.   

 

* * *

 

“We’ll have to set out some house rules, I guess.”

The statement comes out of nowhere and Liz looks up from her homework, confused. Her mother is working on making dinner with Liz works on chemistry and Parker and Megan are doing something in the backyard that will probably result in another broken bone for at least one of them. Liz has decided that it’s best just not to know or ask about these things.

“Huh?” Liz studies her mom’s back, trying to figure out what has possibly prompted the comment.

Her mom turns around. “Remember? I _do_ notice things going on in my house.”

Immediately, Liz feels heat rush to face, giving her away long before anything else possibly could. She never would have made it at Prescott; she has no poker face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liz mumbles because it somehow seems important to at least try and maintain some of her dignity or mystery.

But she knows _exactly_ what her mother is talking about. It’s been almost two weeks of stolen kisses and shyly holding hands with Megan at school and sneaking around and giggling with her about nothing at all and savoring the feeling of her tingling lips after that final goodnight kiss.

Thinking about those things probably doesn’t do much to help her whole effort to appear nonchalant.

Her mother lifts her eyebrows. “Uh huh,” she says flatly. “I know it’s not like with a boy and you can’t get pregnant but-”

“Oh my god, Mom, stop!” Liz cries, covering her hands with her ears. “Can you just _not_!”

Of course, that seems to have been the exact reaction her mother was hoping for. “You’ll have to make sure to leave room for Jesus,” her mom continues. “And keep the bedroom door open for the Holy Ghost. And I’ll have Parker be my spy and-”

“Ugh, seriously, stop,” Liz grumbles, knocking her forehead against the kitchen table. “Can you just not make this weird? Please.”

Her mother clucks her tongue, patting Liz on the top of her head. “I’m your mom,” she says, “it’s my job to make things weird.”

 

* * *

 

It’s Thanksgiving Break and it feels almost exactly like it did when she was a little kid: like a week is an impossibly long time and so full of possibility and potential. It feels good not to set the alarm on her phone, not to think about what the day is going to bring, to not have to suffer through a high school made barely tolerable by Megan.

By the time Liz pulls herself out of bed, Megan and Parker are already in the kitchen, laughing at something Parker is drawing, the remains of breakfast spread out around them. Their mother is already at work, the rumble of the garage door having woken Liz up hours earlier, and that somehow makes the week even more promising.

“What are you doing?” Liz questions, peeking over Parker’s shoulder. She ruffles his curls and then, after a moment, kisses the top of his head.

“Drawing.” Parker lifts up the paper. “See?”

With only one eye on the picture, Liz turns to look at Megan, shyly kissing her cheek. They don’t normally do that sort of thing, kiss each other hello in the morning, but she feels emboldened by this whole sense of freedom and the approaching holiday. And Megan’s smile just makes her want to kiss her again.

“It’s us,” Parker continues, either unaware of or uninterested in what his sister is doing. “Me and Megan are spies but you’re just in training.”

Liz looks at the picture a little closer, taking in the fact that Parker is in his full ninja regalia and Megan is somehow managing to hold a grenade, a gun, and a sword. And the crayon version of herself is somewhat awkwardly holding onto a taser and Liz is pretty sure the expression on her face is what makes Megan and Parker start snickering all over again.

“I’m not trying to be a spy, you know,” Liz says as she goes to get a bowl out of the cabinet.

Parker shrugs. “I know. You’re just dating one. That’s counts.”

Liz and Megan exchange a look and Megan just shrugs. Liz looks at her brother. “How do you know that, Parker?”

Parker taps the side of his head. “I’m a ninja, I know things.”

Liz can only shake her head. Apparently, everyone in this family thinks they know things about her.

Never mind the fact that they’re right.

That’s hardly the point.

 

* * *

 

The air has a bite of chill to it, the way the fall air does when the sun is starting to set and the heat of the day is finally slipping away. The crickets are humming in the trees and Liz can see grasshoppers fluttering around in the high grass that brushes in wisps against her knees as she walks.

Around them, lights from the surrounding neighborhoods glow and the distant sounds of life drift in on the still, chilly air. The train track stretches out ahead, rotting and even more overgrown than it was the last time Liz had been here, but still recognizable among the weeds.

Megan is walking along the steel beams, balancing herself in an effortless way that Liz never could manage. Though, Liz figures that’s the spy training. Clearly good for something.

“So,” Megan says as they walk, just like Liz used to do, when the whole point was just to be outside, to be walking, to be alone with the other person you were with. “Tell me more about Thanksgiving. What’s it all about?”

Liz just shakes her head. “Just when I think you’re finally starting to become a normal person, you say stuff like that.”

Megan shrugs. “I mean, we definitely didn’t have Thanksgiving at Prescott. No Thanksgiving, no Christmas, no birthdays-”

“Okay, that _is_ a tragedy,” Liz says. “No wonder you aren’t normal. You might want to work on that before my aunt and all my cousins show up.”

“What? No telling them that I’m a trained spy?” Megan teases.

Liz shakes her head. “Not unless one of them takes the last slice of pie,” she says. “Then we might have to unleash some of those Prescott skills.”

Megan laughs and the sound echoes around them and inside Liz’s chest and she still loves the stupid sound of it, loves being the one to make Megan laugh in the first place.

“Definitely,” Megan says with a nod. “We can’t let them get in the way of the dessert.”

Liz smiles and feels good and real and easy. Her chest feels tight but in the kind of way that makes her want to keep smiling and never stop. “Exactly,” she says with a nod. “You definitely get me.”

 


End file.
